"I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste." - Song of Solomon 2:3
Pulling in through our home’s gate on North Saltair Avenue, Gerry drove around the back to our garage, and we were finally home. We walked into the house hand in hand, the lights were on low mode and music started to play Timbaland’s Apologize as we entered. My husband likes to ply me with music and it always, always works. It would work without music as well but music just blindfolds us as we ski down the Black Diamond slope. Plying me at this moment wasn’t necessary; I was all his.
Our three dogs met us at the garage door but we paid them no mind and they followed us down the hall. We invited them to leave the bedroom and closed the door, their noses immediately going under the door’s gap to find our scent.
Gerry put his arms around me and unzipped my shimmery dress, letting it fall and then standing back and looking at me, slowly freeing me from my underthings and they, too, fell to the floor. Leave the thigh-high stockings on, he asked and I did. He pushed my long brown hair, streaked gray with the years, back away from my face as I stroked his body lightly with my fingertips. I’m not an actress or model so I’m not tall and lean. I’m short and a little thick with curves, like a normal person. And yet he loves me madly. Gerry is a superstar – or was - and an exquisite hunk of muscular bodybuilder. He has a luscious salt-and-pepper beard that he keeps trimmed close but long enough not to be scratchy on my face or my delicate spots.
We’re both supposed to be past our prime but we feel as if this is our prime. It just doesn’t get any better than this. Even if he were not so pretty he would still have the electron charge that jolts me right down to my toes. He brings me into his orbit with his blue suede eyes, his charm and kind heart. And then consumes me with his deep soul and hot sex.
I unbuttoned his jacket and vest, pulling at his slacks as he touched my breasts and then kissed them with his warm tongue. We were measured and methodical, enjoying the feel and the visual of our clothes leaving us, not frantic. We’re not teenagers, we know what is coming and we’re going to take our time so we can experience all of it. I slowly untied his beautiful silk tie and he immediately took it from me and tied one end on my wrist. Oh my.
I crawled across the bed and he engulfed me and I felt him on my back, between my legs, grasping my breasts. I touched him lightly then he touched me roughly. He held me up and I felt like we were underwater, moving in slow motion. Suspended above him, airless, I couldn’t see his eyes so I closed mine and felt him, heard him. As I began to sweat, he traced the perspiration down my spine with his fingertip.
“Oh,” he exhaled as I tasted his beautiful body and he said it again, taking my hair in his hand, then wrapping it once around his wrist. I took all of him and he groaned loudly.
“My sweet wife,” he exclaimed and I whispered, ‘my love’. Touching my skin, hard and soft, grasping flesh and loving it with his mouth and his big hands so deft, his fingers warm, his tongue hot. I stroked with the lightest touch of my fingertips. The red flame turned blue and burned hotter, little streams of perspiration tracking across his abdominals and our bodies met, floating at that moment. He finally grunted and it gave me a deep thrill to hear it as he bit down on me and I dug into his back with my fingertips. We shivered simultaneously at the last voltaic current and I could feel his heart beating against my flesh, his warmth spreading inside of me.
Then the kiss, his last kiss that tells me he loves me, will always love me. I let him kiss me after the rush and I wait for it; I have chosen to wait and I always will. That kiss just before he leaves my body and I must let him go but I don’t want to. God has built us so that when we are connected that way, we cannot do anything else but look at each other in the eye. And then the kiss. Just that and that is enough, that is everything there is at that moment as our hearts form the memory of love.
All the pain we had lived through had washed away and our only reality was this ecstasy, the ongoing pleasure of seeing his face every day, loving his soul, being his wife and living as part of him. Gerry and I are in love as if that were not evident. It was a hard-won love, a well-deserved happiness, after decades of pain, loss, and heartbreak. After a child’s possible suicide, parents in hospice, the anguish of being shunned by adult children, the ache of the loss of grandchildren in our lives. So many of those things were descended from the evil of divorce and the havoc it wreaks.
We waited nearly our whole lives to find each other. Gerry was worth the wait. Slogging through two bad marriages and more than a decade across the Celibate Desert to get to him was apparently part of God’s plan. We’re still on Plan A. That’s what Gerry told me when he met me.
God's plan is a good plan.
love; sex; Christian; Orange Grove; romcom; romance; drama; Baby Boomer; HEA;
Copyright Mare Loch 2021, 2022 © Excerpt from Orange Grove: The Reformation of a Midlife Wife by Mare Loch. All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed on this website and all subsequent publications are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this website may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Comments